For a Lark
by Kaeru Shisho
Summary: A Valentine special: after both men suffer from unrelated “breaks”, Trowa and Duo meet on an isolated satellite
1. Reunion

**For a Lark**

**A Valentine's Day Story**

When Duo Maxwell runs into a comrade from the past, will it spark a friendship, or something more?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me to complete this.

**Warnings:** AU, male/male pairings, language

**Chapter 1 -- Reunion**

* * *

The place to meet men was where liquor was sold, and this place closest to the shuttle post had been recommended. One look inside, hundreds of bottles over, around, surrounded the bar in an awe-inspiring array—for the tiny, satellite-afterthought of a colony this was. Yeah, the tender was no slump about it. There was enough booze to float a loan, a dozen loans. Garlands of pink and white hearts were strung from light to light, reminding me of some past holiday celebration.

"Hi! My name's Candy. Have a sweet tooth?" The big-titted brunette gave me a bruising kiss.

"No," I said honestly, pushed her off, and moved up to the bar, already a sticky mess of mangled lemon wedges being whisked away by the hefty barkeep. "Um, 'keep, nice spread."

"She could be, if you're interested."

"No thanks. Not my type." And Candy really wasn't. At all.

The bartender stepped away from the bar, his waist-length platinum hair shimmering in the tiki lights. "I'm going to the back for another Dewars. You can handle the bar alone, can't you Art?"

Art was one hot topic with chin-length dreds, caramel skin, black, Asian eyes, melt-your-heart smile. Now _that_ was my type.

"Yeah, mon. I gotcha covered."

My imagination stretched and shaped that off-hand remark into something lewd. Jeez, I needed to get laid and bad.

"Picky, aren't you?" Art asked me.

"Yeah, and I pick you." I flashed a smile. "Let's dance."

He shook his head, picked up a rag, and wiped down the stainless steel bar, clearing the lemons on the first swipe, the sticky on the return. "Gotta work first. Name's Art Dodger, wat's yours?"

"Duo Maxwell."

"Duo? Well, Duo, wat can I pour you?"

"Whiskey?"

"ID?"

I flipped out my pilot's license and hoped he didn't put my name and past vocation together to spell "ex-terrorist." Art studied the license, his eyes looking askance to the dark far corner of the bar, then back up to my face. I wondered if his boss was observing him, or me.

"I can serve you beer. On dis satellite, gotta be 21 for hard liquor. Sorry, mon."

"Eh." I shrugged it off. "Actually, I'm looking for a place to stay."

"On dis Godforsaken outpost on de edge of de universe?"

"Yeah…" I sipped at my beer. "Shuttle crew recommended I come here for a lead."

Again, he glanced away, this time finding what he wanted, because he nodded in that direction. "The guy you ought to see is dat one, dere at the end."

There was something in Art the Barman's tone that said "and do it now," so I did. "Okay, I will. Thanks."

"An' don' forget to com' back fo' de dance."

"Ah, right."

Once I got past the scrim of smoke I could see the fellow he must have intended for me. Long legs and lanky with light brown hair framing half his face and hiding the other. For a second, I thought of Trowa Barton, the Gundam pilot at one time and circus performer of late, but my common sense told me it couldn't be him, not out here.

But it was. When he looked up and the bangs fell away, I could see it was him. "Tro'? Dude, that you?"

He recognized me right off, too. "Maxwell, what the hell? Where's the braid?"

I scooted onto the next closest open barstool, which had pneumatics that adjusted for my height automatically with a wheezy sigh. The stool beside him was being used as a leg rest; Trowa's leg was in an over-the-knee cast. No one was on my other side and he was positioned so he could lean up against the wall, making a cozy, semi-private corner to converse.

"Under my jacket." I turned around and took off my knit cap to show him where it tucked inside. I tapped the resin cast. "Looks serious."

"The leg? Yeah. Circus dumped me here to heal after the reconstruction work." That had to be immense physical reconstruction to put him in a cast of that magnitude. I wanted to know more, but he had shut off the info tap and turned it on me. "What brings you to this colonial scrap heap? Don't see Hilde with you."

"Long, stupid story which ends with me here looking for a place to hang my hat."

"You need a place to stay for awhile?" It was Trowa's turn to hunt down Art and send fierce look in his direction.

"Yeah. No scheduled departure. Um, I'm just following leads. Don't wanna put you on the spot or anything, okay?"

"I have a flat, street level, small. You're welcome to the couch."

"Really? Hey, that'd be cool until I find a more permanent hidey hole. I can help with food. I can cook. And I'll get out of your hair with one word. Promise."

"It's not that big a deal." He reached for a crutch and hefted his leg off the barstool. "Finish your drink and I'll take you there. _I_ got whiskey."

I emptied the mug of beer in a few swallows. "A man after my heart."

His wall-eyed expression sent my stomach deep south. Implying a gay thing in either direction would be a mistake. Sensitive issue with a bad story with a sorry ending. Seems of the five Gundam pilots, I alone got the 'gay' straw or gene or whatever. Slips like that could damage a friendship and he and I didn't have what you'd call a firm friendship foundation. More a passing respect.

I tried to cover it with more yak. "Another whiskey drinker. Visited Chang once and he tried to drown me in tea. Washed me away. You ever get out his direction?"

"Once or twice." He adjusted the crutch under his arm and stood. Then he smiled, catching my eye. "I got him drunk putting whiskey in his pot of shit tea."

"Damn! I'm sorry I missed that." And I was.

I paid my tab, exchanged winks with Art, and followed Trowa past the fluttering heart banner and out the door. I planned to return for that dance because Barton wasn't gay and as much as I needed a friend, I needed a gay friend, too. The door closed like an iris behind us.

Outside, or what pretended to be the outside, was temperature and humidity controlled to human-comfort levels, although I would have liked it to be a tad warmer and drier. The illumination was currently low-light "night blue", as the night-rotation lighting was called on the satellite stations. Nothing like colonies, which tried to simulate Earth conditions to some extent, the satellites had their own cold, sterile appeal, if you were a cyborg. I was not part machine, but I preferred space to living land-side, and, since I hadn't much cash to speak of, this hunk of orbiting metal was about the only place I could afford.

Post war colonies were thriving, which meant they were running out society's dregs. Jettisoning the flotsam. And a man without a job or family ties was flotsam by definition. That was me, settling to the bottom of the barrel, but for the grace of this last hold out in the friend camp, Trowa Barton.

"Need to pick up some things." Trowa hobbled, with grace, his crutch and cast thumping softly on the simu-rubber matting used for most walkways.

We stopped at a rations shop, its red and pink window dressing dancing with more hearts and naked babies shooting arrows, and collected two bags worth of foodstuffs and toilet paper, and then continued out on the main path, me carrying the bags like the gallant I was. He pointed out the sights along the way.

Barbershop. Florist shop with a garden of bouquets dressed in red ribbons and bows pressed up against the plasti-flex windows as if they were scrambling to escape all at once. Liquor store. Hardware. Emergency station.

"You see red lights flashing or hear the siren, head for an EM station if you are outside a residence. It means there's been a breach in the skin or glitch in the power grid."

"Jesus! That happen often?"

"No. Every Friday at noon there's a test of the system. For our safety. The residences have seals and I have a couple suits." Space suits, he meant.

Hairdresser with dire "Get your 'do' done for that romantic day!" warnings posted in the window. I would not let some rug clipper get their hands on me, ever. Café. Smokes and Magazines. Clothing. Emergency station.

"Every Friday? That's gotta be nerve-racking."

"Among other things."

The storefronts were uniformly pleasant, when not over-decorated with splashes of red, white, and pink, clean, and made of a super light-weight foam-core plastic material common to space construction. When he stopped, it was in front of a door of wood, well, it looked like wood. He slipped a passcard into the slot and the door opened. A guard, or doorman, eyed us for a moment, and then stepped back to let us pass.

"Enter my lobby," Trowa muttered. He seemed more detached than I'd remembered, and hoped it wasn't because he was embarrassed to be seen entering with me.

I felt at home, though. The entry opened into a large room with comfortable-looking chairs, tables with books and lamps, even what looked like a fireplace with a roaring fire, though it wasn't.

"Mail room," he pointed at a passageway, "and elevators. We're going the other way."

"Okay." I dragged myself away from the cozy scene of the common room and tagged along behind Trowa, wondering how he got here, if he had withdrawn on his own to recuperate or had been shoved out of the way. Did anyone know who he was, or had been? Art's eye-play with him had been suspicious. Had Art read both our IDs and put two and two together, or should I say two and three together? I say that because we had stopped at room 3.

"You are kidding." Three, as in "03", his pilot's code, like Trowa's name.

He broke into a smile. "Catherine made the arrangements. I thought it was…asinine, but ..."

"She afraid you'd forget your room number otherwise?"

"God. I hadn't thought of that. That is so sad." Trowa shook his head and passed his scan-card through the lock to cause it to disengage. "Welcome to my world."

He could have called his room his "cell" for all the personality it had.

"You just move in?"

"I haven't had the…anything to decorate."

"'Sokay. I'll try not to make it over."

He chuckled. I'd actually made the dude laugh. Glowing with that achievement, I tottered through his apartment.

"Not bad." There was a kitchen nook, where I unloaded one bag of groceries, an eating bar, but not stools, dividing it from the sitting area. There was an old style vidphone on an upended box and a TV on another in front of the ratty couch and chair. Instead of bookcases, a couple dozen stacks of books were pushed against the wall. Moving right along on my tour, a dresser and box-style nightstand sat beside a huge mattress pushed into a corner in what could be called the bedroom. These were space-certified, pressurizable cartons, not ordinary packing boxes, making them oh-so much more attractive in the decorating scheme of things.

"Bathroom's through here." Trowa showed me a door, where I took the TP we'd just purchased and stacked it away—after closing the door and making use of the facilities to relieve myself and wash up a little.

He had a bottle of liquor open and two glasses on the "coffee table" when I came out, and was stretched out on the couch, a place I figured he'd spent much of his time entertaining himself alone. Not the way you were thinking, either. Okay, _that_ too.

I saw no sign of a roommate or frequent lover who might leave an identifying item lying about in the bathroom or…around. There really was nothing lying around, except Trowa. The place had all the personality of its resident.

"That looks good," I told him. "First, I gotta eat something, 'kay? Don't mind if I heat some soup?"

"I'll have some, too. Cut the loaf and some cheese."

"Gotcha. Tomorrow, I'll show you my skills at the stove. Hey, they were hard-learned so I'm rather proud of them."

"You can cook all you want. No complaints from me. I'm…I didn't have to at the circus. We had a community mess tent."

He settled back on his couch and flicked on the TV, listening to the news while I located a pot, on the stove, a large spoon, in the pot, and opened the pull-tab soup can, no water needed. I found places to stow the purchases that made sense to me, except for the bread and cheese, which we would eat.

"You really need a bread knife."

"I do?"

"Yeah, this one's for cutting meat."

"I use it for everything."

"Yeah, well, I'll get you a bread knife." I had been domesticated by Hilde and necessity.

"Suit yourself."

I hummed a little tune and heated the pot, stirred the soup, sliced some of the cheese and bread, and located a plate, on a shelf with bowls, and mugs. One mug held an assortment of eating utensils. I moved those to a nearly empty drawer, saving out two spoons, collected the bowls, and assembled everything into our meal. There were only the bare essentials on the shelves and other than what we had purchased, the refrigerator was bare.

I wondered at how Trowa had been getting along, hanging out alone on this isolated satellite, and took the opportunity to look him over while his attention was riveted to the TV. He had never been heavy, but now he had that lean-hungry look, the muscles standing our, clearly delineated. Acrobatics, if that is what he'd been doing, had developed his body real nicely. The dark smudges under his eyes and hollow cheeks told another story.

"It's ready," I warned him.

He was sitting up, ready. "Looks great."

I thought so too, but then I hadn't eaten all day and had a belly full of sour beer. I carried it all in and laid it out on the crate-table, such as it was. We ate in silence, watching the news, listening to the harrowing tales of faraway places and political entanglements which didn't concern us in the least. It was nice. World events were passing us by and we cared not a twit.

For dessert we polished off the liquor and watched TV. I fell asleep over my drink watching some nature show on desert lizards. Those little guys could take the heat, to a point, then they'd have to find a shady spot out of the sun or a hole in the sand to cool down.

That's what cold-blooded really meant. I'd always heard folks use the words to describe a man, "a cold-blooded killer." The only man I thought of like that was Heero Yuy, but he didn't act out of instinct to stay alive. He killed because he liked to, whether they be enemies, gunmen, mission objectives, or friends who made big mistakes—all the same, all good targets.

Heero, like other predators of arid land skirting the grasslands of Kenya, including the rufous-beaked snake, is most active at night. But underground, it is always dark. Night and day are the much the same to the tunnel-dwelling naked mole rat. The rats remain cool without fur, just wrinkly, pink skin. Very large incisors are used to excavate tunnels and the short, broad head contains powerful jaw muscles. Unfortunately for this mole rat, his scythe-like teeth are useless in a battle with the voracious snake…

"Hey."

It wasn't a rufous-beaked snake sinking its claws into me, the blind and naked mole rat; it was Trowa, gently shaking my shoulder.

"Hey, man. You don't want to fall asleep on this couch. I think a clown died on it once, or something. C'mon, get up. Follow me."

Thump, thump went his crutch receding away, leaving me with the image of a bloody clown, mouth gaping with a rictus grin, lying beside me. Geez!

"Fol-low." I shot off the couch and stepped in line, although the only other place I could think of where we'd both fit was the kitchen, which was in the other direction; the bathroom, which he'd already passed up; or his bedroom. Presto!

"Bed's big enough for us and a Gundam. Get in. Go to sleep. You can go with me to my doctor's appointment in the morning."

"Wouldn't want me to go wild here all alone, eh? Heh, heh…" I said, laughing and my voice trailing off as I realized what I said had not come out sounding right.

He shook his head and smiled fractionally.

Thinking I was making him uncomfortable, I carried on, "Looks comfortable and roomy. You won't get any argument outta me. And I'm a quiet sleeper."

"I know." His voice was so soft I could hardly hear him. "We shared a safe house once or twice, if you'll recall."

"Oh, yeah, sure; I'm just …tired."

"Uh, huh. I know you hardly noticed I was even in the same room. It's okay. It suited me at the time."

He was right about me not noticing him much. I'd had Quatre to chat with, Heero to ogle when he wasn't looking, and Wufei to avoid. Trowa was just not there.

But he was here and very visible, stripping down to shorts, with some trouble getting his loose pants off over the cast, and removing his t-shirt with jaw-dropping triceps, and turning back the sheets.

I wasn't staring! I was better trained at controlling my eyes than I'd been as a kid. It just takes getting caught once by a fellow pilot to teach a guy like me a lesson in manners. In Trowa's room, I only peeked a little before following suit, removing my outerwear, and climbing into bed.

I hugged the mattress edge, giving him a wide, wide berth; at least to start, and then I fell asleep. Traveling the dreamscape I know not where, I hallucinated sweet visions that I forgot on awakening.

"Good morning, sweetheart!"

I must have been awake; nobody could have dreamed a headache as bad as I had. Cautiously – or incautiously, as it turned out—I opened one eye, and a needle of artificial sunlight struck straight through my brain.

"Holy mother of God!" I groaned, and snapped the eyelid shut again over my charred eyeball.

A smell of coffee threatened my stomach with upheaval, and a voice I recognized said, redundantly, "I brought you some coffee."

This time I squinted, which was safer, and vaguely made out a male form of a man with a crutch under one arm and a steaming mug in the other. Trowa Barton. That's where I was!

* * *

TBC


	2. Reliance

**For a Lark**

**A Valentine's Day Story**

When Duo Maxwell runs into a comrade from the past, will it spark a friendship, or something more?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me to complete this. And to all my readers, thank you for the lovely reviews and kind criticism.

**Warnings:** AU, male/male pairings, language

**Chapter 2 -- Reliance**

* * *

Living on a satellite station is nothing like living on a colony in space; it's more like living on a big spaceship. An object suspended in time and space, going in circles, going no place—sounded like me—was a fine place to visit, but stays of longer duration were not for me, or Trowa either. We were colony kids.

The colonies are huge and have terra-forming, to varying degrees of refinement, to make them appear Earth-like. There's "sky" and plants and dirt and even vermin, again, to varying degrees. For instance, L5, Wufei's destroyed homeland, had been intended to be a replica of the portion of China on Earth from which his clan originated. L4 had been modeled from a portion of the Middle East. L1 had resembled modern Japan; L3, a pre-industrial age Europe, and L2 had originally been a representation of America, circa the gangster days of Chicago—my guess.

Back to the satellite I was on; it was a big ring with spokes like a wheel. Built into the ring were buildings on two "sides" with a street up the middle. The street "T-ed" off at the spokes for fast access to any point in the satellite. Up the center of the street ran two sets of rails for trams going in opposite directions.

"We can grab a bite at the coffee shop then catch the cross-tram," Trowa said.

If I hadn't a hangover, I would have made us breakfast. Once I learned how to cook and had money, I was excited to be able to produce a reliable supply of food for myself and others. Eating out was expensive and too often indigestibly rich.

"I don't know if I can eat." Noise, lights, smell of anything beyond the mug of coffee in my hands made my stomach recoil. My benefactor appeared to be suspiciously unaffected by the excess of drink the night before. "Why are you so… intact?"

"Here, take these and get dressed, or you can stay here."

I looked over the pills he so casually pressed into my shaking hand, and then washed them down with another swig of coffee. He let me occupy the bath room and the bed room alone while he washed the glasses we'd left out. To my surprise, relief, and joy, the pills cut through the pain like a beam blade through unenhanced shielding.

"Where did you get those painkillers and how can I get my hands on some?" I asked as we passed the Smokes and Magazine stand next door to our destination café.

"Prescription. Ask the doctor, but unless you seriously injure yourself between here and there, I doubt she'll prescribe you any."

Fling myself under a tramcar? Unlikely. That was both sigh and shrug-worthy. "Too bad."

"I don't do that regularly."

"What get drunk and pop pills? Or play druggist?"

"Both." He riveted my hand to the mug with his one visible eye. "Just drink less alcohol and more water and you'll feel better."

Well, duh. Trowa should probably take his own advice, but I didn't tell him that, because for all I knew he did. I grabbed a local news chip on the way in, thinking I'd try and learn about this outpost of humanity while I was here. We settled into a booth and sipped at water. Sipped. It tasted like it was chemically treated, filtered, and recycled about 12,000 times.

I ordered more coffee as soon as I could.

"Avoid the eggs," Trowa recommended. "Ham is…not, but it's filling."

"Hash browns?"

"Hash."

"Hash? That's different?"

"Has ham in it. It's better."

"Okay. Hash it is." I checked to make sure he was nodding. "Toast?"

"You like jam?"

"Sure."

"Then don't order toast. The jam sucks. Go with a cinnamon roll."

"Gotcha." I knew what I'd order now.

When my coffee arrived I drank greedily, and choked, followed up by a coughing fit. "Jesus! I asked for coffee, not petroleum! What you served me this morning was good."

"Catherine sends it."

Oh, man. Didn't this guy indulge himself _at all? _

And I must have muttered that just loud enough for him to catch my drift, because he said, "I left my stuff with the circus."

"Yeah? Oh, sure, this isn't permanent. You got that to go back to. I sold everything. I had a little place and sold it all. I'm storing some keepsakes at the shuttle station, but that's it."

"You're not going back." He said this not as a question, but as a logical conclusion.

"Nope!" I had nothing to go back to, including a reason. Hilde had seen to that. "I am so going to make you real food, even if I have to order fresh ingredients from earth."

"Then you'd best unearth a fortune. Real food costs."

"Costs like…? An arm and a leg? That what happened to you?" I grinned, watching a waiter amble our way. I almost missed his color change as the blood left his face then flooded back. I actually did know better than to bring up the subject of his injury. I really did. I had the opportunity to get in a joke and out flew my better judgment. It wasn't the first time that happened. You'd think I'd learn.

"Ah, no. Close."

The waiter saved me further fall from grace. "What can I bring you?"

"Hash and a cinnamon roll and more coffee, please." I felt like I'd safely dodged a gut-busting bullet or two.

"Eggs, scrambled, toast with strawberry jam, and pancakes. Um, orange juice."

I could have strangled him with his suggestions! Instead, I stared daggers his way until the waiter left.

"Why?-- you are wondering." Trowa asked. The dude was _so_ droll I could shoot the clown.

"How sage you are. Fucking, yes!"

"When I came here, I couldn't swallow the food. After two days of starving, I could. I've gotten…used to it now. That, or starve. You can taste everything I get and make up your own mind."

"I'll do that." I wasn't so miffed now. How could I stay angry when he was being thoughtful in spite of his overall gloom? "But I grew up eating garbage out of trashcans, so I have a high tolerance, when I need it."

"You'll need it." That sounded sour and ominous.

And, he was one hundred percent correct. The OJ was a cup of chemicals; the eggs were gag-worthy, the jam, insipid. The cinnamon roll and ham hash were okay, though, and the pancakes, he claimed with an expressive shrug, were passable—as coasters.

I remembered the news chip I'd bought on the way in, slipped it into slot on the monitor at the table, and waited. Ads for chocolates and skimpy underwear popped from the pages. I was not in the market or mood for either. Trowa looked out the window to the artificial world beyond. Okay, he was apathetic about what was happening, but I wasn't.

After a few minutes of perusing the articles, I discovered how uninterested _I_ could be. Then I found something sensational on the last "page" amongst the enhance-your-love-life promotions.

"Does sex," I read aloud, "cure gallstones?"

"I dunno. I've never had any," Trowa said.

_Say what?_ I turned to him. _No sex?_

"Gallstones," he explained. There was a twinkle in his eye and a glint of tooth as a chuckle escaped his lips.

"Funny, 'Tro. This place is dead. No wonder the only scene is happening at the bars."

"Yeah. Art probably wonders if you killed me. I had my own stool there."

Art? Oh, yeah, Art with the dreads, sexy smile, and who owed me a dance, _that _Art. And besides him, I recalled seeing a balance of men and women there, plenty of women, but as hard as I tried I couldn't imagine this dispirited Trowa picking anyone up. "We should drop in, maybe, one of these nights, then? You hooked up there?"

He shrugged. I was finding that to be a most frustrating answer, like the off-putting grunt "hn" I'd get from Heero, and I was about to call him on it, when he cleared his throat, so I waited him out.

"I just went to be around people."

Well. Damn. Life sure had slammed him a big one. Good thing I showed up then. He was a good-looking guy, so why didn't he have a bevy of beauties taking care of him, I wondered? I decided right then and there that if there was anything I could do to draw out my old comrade and spice up his life; I'd have to do that before I left. Ugh. That meant that while I was at it, I'd have to think of something to do with my life, too. One last ad pulsed from the monitor. I might need new boxers, but nix the pink hearts, and nix the news. I shut it off and tossed the clip onto the table.

"Ready?" he asked, folding his napkin to signal he was.

"Yeah." I couldn't wait to be released from finishing my food.

We split the bill and exited with the air-sealing, iris-doors closing "swoosh" behind us. I just loved that eternal hum of the air intakes, always filtering the air, recycling the most precious commodity, a ready reminder of how we didn't truly belong our here in the void. We made our way across the rubberized walkway to the center of street where the bi-directional trams ran. Moments later, our ride pulled up. Trowa nudged me forward into the middle, streamlined car. The see-through doors didn't have the kind of rigid air seals of the doorways, I noticed, as they slid open on silent mechanisms to admit us.

I watched as Trowa dug through his pocket, wondering if the transit were free or not. "Do we pay?"

"No," he said, and withdrew a card. He read off a number and punched it into a small keypad. "This is the tram destination input device." He pointed to the label "TDID."

"Cool. I thought it said, 'I did', but since I hadn't I wasn't sure if I should." I flashed him a smile and he shook his head, but I think there was a smile behind the shock of hair. A little flickering one.

We found seats and settled in for the short ride. I found this to be like all the other satellite tram rides I'd been on—smooth, efficient, and nearly silent with few working parts to rattle. In less than 20 minutes, we were at our destination, a large facility, which screamed "medical" with the sterile façade and red EMERGENCY sign at one entrance.

I stopped when I found myself walking alone. My natural gait was faster than Trowa-with-a-cane, so I slowed. Still, he was dragging his feet more than before. He looked as if he were on a death march. Maybe he was. I didn't know what the doctor appointment was all about and I didn't have a good thing to say about my war-time hospital containments. There's always been someone with an axe to grind against us Gundam pilots, so you never wanted to close your eyes and leave yourself vulnerable to attack. Any hypo, pill, or food could deliver instant death. I took a chance that he was feeling the same way, adding to his other problems.

"I hate these places," I said.

That made him look up at me. Good, a response.

"Hey, I won't leave your side," I said. "Watch yer back, right?"

Surprisingly, what I said helped, I think. He almost smiled. "They won't let you in the SOR, the, ah, sterile observation room."

"We'll see. I can be very persuasive."

He picked up the hobble-skip pace while commenting, "You always have been."

"You think so?" Not always, but it was nice of him to think so, maybe. It got us past the entrance and into the voluminous receiving room. "So what floor?"

"Nine."

"Nine, it is."

On the elevator ride, I took off my cap to shake out my itchy braid. "Better."

He almost touched it. His hand twitched. I wouldn't have minded and almost told him so, but we were at a floor stop and more people got on with us. We got off at nine, checked in at the window, and sat to wait some more. Hurry up and wait. Typical doctor's office.

We survived the waiting room and the probing eyes of the other patients. I don't know if he was as bothered by it as much as me. I was recognized on L2, but as a hero. Other places I'd been, which weren't many, if I wasn't disguised I wasn't much better than a curiosity and often treated more like an escaped convict. I was relieved when his name was called, and to find that the doctor was a young woman.

"No false noses," I said, with a knowing wink, to Trowa.

The doctor looked confused.

"My last doctor had a prosthetic nose," Trowa explained.

"How unattractive that must have been. I can't imagine…the discomfort." She shook away the image, then looked me over. "Hello. You look familiar."

"Duo. Visiting my old buddy here."

"That's good. I hope you can stick around for the challenging convalescent part of his recovery. If I find today that his bone re-growth is complete, the remainder of the regeneration can be scheduled this week."

Trowa straightened and looked up to meet her eyes and she spoke directly to him. "After a short recovery period and evaluation, you'll need extensive physical therapy. How does that sound to you?"

"Okay, I guess." Trowa revealed little of what he was thinking, but his eyes slid to the closed door and adhered. I guessed that he wanted to leave more than anything.

"Good. The technician is ready for us."

Trowa blinked; or at least, one green eye did, but that was all. Well, since Trowa wasn't going to ask, so it was up to me to ask.

"Can I come along?"

The doctor thought a moment. "If Trowa doesn't mind?"

Trowa shook his head.

"Then you'll have to wear a mask, head covering, cover up-- Oh my!" She just noticed the braid. "You are THAT Duo, the Gundam pilot in the war?!"

"Um, yeah."

"You are so…"

"Good looking?" I grinned.

"Well, I was going to say "young", but—"

"Trowa was one, too, ya know." I thought he should share the pain with me, like it or not. And the doctor should know what she's dealing with.

"Yes. I was told when he was admitted. You've been marked by your past, both of you, I'd expect."

"Yeah." In ways no one could see, especially.

After that it was all business. I changed into my sterile garb in another room, while Trowa undressed. He was wearing a paper gown and stretched out full length on a table when I was admitted to the exam room. The plastic cast came off. I took one look at the gore, a bit of visible, shiny white bone, then sank back to the wall where I could make eye contact with Trowa and miss the rest. Not that I was squeamish, much, but I'd had enough of ugly wounds. _What had he done on a trapeze to screw it up that bad,_ I wondered?

The doctor, technician, and an assistant, ran his leg through a battery of tests and pictures. Trowa looked unhappy, remained silent, but I think my being there helped. I'd smile when he'd look my way, which he couldn't see under the mask I was wearing, but I think he could tell by my eyes that everything was okay.

"All right. That will do it," the doctor declared at last. "Let me show you how well you are doing."

Photo x-ray images proved the artificially regenerated bone blended perfectly with the natural bone, and careful measurements verified that the bone was exactly the proper length.

"This means that you are ready for the muscle attachments and skin replacements. How does that sound?"

Trowa sighed. "Okay. When?"

"As soon as there is an opening. Go by the desk, take this order from me to the desk clerk and you'll be scheduled for the next available slot." She smiled at Trowa hoping, possibly, to get more reaction from him; at least some interest in the procedure. "Your progress has been remarkable. I've never seen such speedy recovery before."

I offered her something. "It was part of the Gundam pilot treatment, I think. We all heal fast."

"Really? I'd like to know more about those treatments you received."

"Wouldn't we all?" I said with a laugh. "The doctors took their secrets to their graves. They all died together with their notes and records. All gone."

"That's too bad." The doctor looked from me to Trowa and back, studying how it had affected us. "And then, I can see how they might easily take experimental testing like that too far. Do you have any questions, Trowa, that I can answer for you? No? If not, then the next time I see you will be on the operating table. Nice to meet you, Duo."

"Yeah, thanks for letting me sit in." I smiled, since Trowa wasn't going to.

"These are for you for being so good today." She smiled with a twist and handed us a lollipop each. Red. Heart-shaped. Cute.

"Thanks," I said, returning a similar smile while Trowa sat and studied his sweet treat for deep significance.

"My pleasure," she said, and then the doctor left.

"That went well, don't you think?"

"Yes." Trowa set his treat on the table and reached for his clothes. I turned away while he dressed. "It all doesn't matter, whether it heals right, or not. It will take years to re-train the muscles for acrobatics, and by then I'll be too old for the work. Okay, I'm ready."

Too old? I took the candy and paperwork and held the door open for him. "But there's other things you can do in the circus, right?"

"Clowning."

"Yeah, but there's other things. I remember you feeding the lions. You can—"

"I don't think so, Duo," he snapped, then hobbled by me, chilling me with the breeze of his passage.

I knew I'd touched upon a sensitive issue, and I didn't have entry to that special place of trust, I guess, to know what all it was about. So, I dropped it for now. But if it was one of the things eating away at him, then I'd have to find out in order to help him heal in his head. Getting Trowa Barton to talk, though? What a laugh!

As it turned out, there was an opening in surgery very soon-- in a couple days-- which he took without comment, and then we left, going home the way we came.

"Gotta lie down," he told me when we got back into his apartment.

Poor guy was exhausted from our outing.

"Okay, rest, and while you do that I'll make us some lunch. We can to go out shopping for supplies again after that, or I can go by myself, if you don't feel like it."

"I'll be okay after I eat." He stared at me a moment. His eyes were green, really green, and not hazel. "Thanks," he said, before continuing on to his room.

"No problem, bud."

I revisited the grilled cheese sandwiches, because that's all there was, nearly. I found apples, old shriveling ones, and decided to slice and bake them with butter and sugar, because they were God-awful mealy and nasty-tasting fresh. But there was no sugar. Staples were in very short supply in his pantry, I'd noticed. So, I unwrapped both lollypops, pounded them a bit to break them into pieces, and sprinkled the bits over the apples.

It couldn't have taken me over half an hour to prepare lunch, but the aroma must have carried to the bedroom, because Trowa was roaming about the kitchen before I called him.

"That was a short rest."

"Smells good."

"Thanks. Put cinnamon on the list, and sugar."

He jotted a note on the tiny pocket memo pad he carried, still carried. During the war Quatre gave him a notepad like it with his vid-number in it to "stay in touch." I wondered if they had. They'd seemed close at times during the war. Anyway, I liked the low-tech reminder solution over the wired-in laptop one that Wufei and Heero seriously bought into. Trowa must have too, because throughout the war, I'd never seen him without the memo pad; though, this one didn't have the Winner Corporation logo on the cover.

"And pepper, flour, more butter stuff, milk stuff—"

"Food. Will that do?"

"Okay," I said. "Here's a plate for you."

His eyes roved the simple plate as if he'd never been served cooked food before. "I'd never think to do all this."

"It's the least I can do to earn my keep."

His expression softened. I called it an appreciative look. Then he floored me by saying, "You are just as I'd imagined you'd be."

That was it. No embellishments to indicate that he'd imagined me to be terrific company, good cook, solid friend. I guess it was my job to fill in the missing words. Ingratiating asshole trying to insinuate myself into his life 'cause I had nowhere else to go—that fit, too.

I wisely kept my trap shut so as not to invite criticism. I'd grown up. Some.

After lunch, he claimed to be refreshed and ready to go back out. For this excursion, I wanted to shop for real food, not a ration shop. Trowa directed us to a different food store further away from his apartment, but still walking distance. This one had the common provisions that spacers favored for long trips, like the place we'd visited on my first day, but it also had imported fresh products—what I called real food.

Curiously, I could buy pre-boxed cupcake mix with an assortment of pink and red confetti topping for less than simple real stone ground flour. Pastel candy heart imprinted with quaint sayings like "Be Mine" and "Kiss Me" were cheaper than a bag of plain, ordinary sugar. What was with all the processed crap? I'd never seen this much on L2.

I used my credits this time and bought more than I could carry back in a single trip. He gave me his apartment passkey and I left him at a juice counter, my treat, while I ran the bags back to his apartment. Two trips.

"You up for a workout?" he asked.

Was he joking? No.

"There's a gym for workouts I've been meaning to check out."

My eyes fixed on his face, waiting, again, for him to elaborate. He didn't, which was just a plain weird way for a person to be, I thought. You see, I was used to talking to these guys using vid-phones, but no one was as non-communicative as Trowa. Hilde had no problem telling me just what was on her mind. Ever. No holds barred. Quatre never left an idea incomplete. He never left me to fill in what I thought he meant to say. Either he didn't trust me to follow his logic or he was just thorough. Wufei always made his points clearly and succinctly, if not with a dollop of insult to top it off, the tight-ass martinet. Well, then there was Heero, who didn't count because he didn't bother talking to me anymore.

"Give me a minute to put everything away back at the apartment, and when I get back, we'll go, all right?"

That was good for him, sipping the last of his disgusting green drink. At least it wasn't the pill-pink special the girl beside him was drinking.

We road a spoke-tram crosswise and walked past an emergency station to get to the Terrapose Fitness Center.

"The satellite has the nickname of 'Terra poser'," my quiet companion told me, _unasked_.

"Cute. Ah, we're scouting this place for your rehab, right?" Just a guess, but I wanted that clear so I didn't fall in love with some piece of equipment only to have to give it up because the place didn't have the right colored towels. Not that Trowa would be that particular, but I'd had that experience with Hilde. I'm kinda soft in the head at times.

"Doesn't have to be just that."

But it was, circus-boy. Admit it. I spotted a sign inside the door. Now, this was interesting and out of the norm.

"A workout place with an observation window? Cool. Wanna look?" I asked.

Sure he did. I bet he would have scaled Heavyarms with both legs broken to get a look out into the great space void and see the stars. Not that he had to. With that cast on, we took the wimp route and rode the elevator.

There is a special feeling being in space, and looking out at the great dark evoked so many memories with the tiny beacons of light from faraway balls of energy, countless of them long dead, the light shining on and on. Piloting shuttles, my Deathscythe, battling for my life and that of the colonies or just my comrades-- all a flipbook in my head flashing by. I felt so small. My problems melted away and my mind escaped to float out there amid the jettisoned detritus.

For once, I was glad for Trowa's quiet, thoughtful nature. No platitudes to spoil the moment or contrary thoughts to ruin the mood. I kept my mouth shut, too, so he could get out of this what he could without my disturbing him. We sat at the window seat, the thick transparent material shielding us from the deathly vacuum and absolute cold, and watched the view change with the rotation of the satellite. We sat for the longest time, and then Trowa moved to get up.

"Thanks. Missed that."

"Yeah, me, too. Working the scrap yard hadn't given me many chances to see the sights." I made room for him in the small elevator and pressed "1".

"You didn't fly collection runs? I thought you'd been with the Sweepers."

"That was before the war. Nah, I was stuck in the yard doing demolition and sorting. The flight from L2 to here was only the second time I'd been off-colony since the war was over."

The other time being the Sanc celebration where I'd made an ass of myself over Heero. Nothing like outing myself to the entire universe and getting shot down all in one swift suicide mission. Trowa would have no problem remembering that, so I had no need to go into further explanation.

We looked over the equipment and met the trainers, who were about our ages and just as fit. I spotted Trowa and watched the guy bench-press nearly double my weight. His upper body strength was amazing, maybe better than Heero's.

Not to make too big a deal out of it, but Tro had a great body, and I tried to ignore it. What I'd learned was to treat straight guys like women—interesting, but not arousing. No reason to discomfort the breeders with my perverted ways. Sigh. But Trowa was seriously hot. And I wasn't just saying that because I'd been on a sexual sabbatical for… awhile. It was a challenge to play it cool next to Mr. Acrobat.

Before leaving, we determined a good workout routine we could do together in an hour and signed up with a trainer and a physical therapist with the understanding that Trowa would be out of commission after his surgery. They gave us the current "couples special" even though we weren't, um, a couple couple.

"I gotta get back and start dinner. That's primo meat I bought and it has to be cooked low and slow."

"What can I do?"

"Wash the potatoes. Man, I never thought I'd pay that much for a potato. That's crap starch."

"Nothing grows here but algae."

"Algae? Ya mean seaweed?"

"Not that sophisticated. More like green slime. They've got all kinds with their genes bent to be vitamin supplements. It's in all the rations."

"That explains a lot." I smiled.

"It explains the crappy staples." He smiled, too.

We shared a moment of camaraderie, another moment. The moments were adding up. The trip back to his flat was quick, and as we prepared a real earth-side dinner together, it felt real homey. I hadn't dared to think about how much I missed that. How much I missed the company Hilde had been for me.

I wiped at my eyes and my hand came away wet. Shit. I was too young to be sentimental already.

Trowa noticed. "You okay?"

I hadn't told him about what had happened between Hilde and me, and I wasn't ready to talk about it, so I bucked up a bit and got my emotions under control. "Yeah. This… this is nice. I appreciate you taking me in this way. I—"

And then he brushed the hair out of his face and looked me squarely in the eyes. "I'm glad you came."

Well. That was nice to hear. "Thanks. Kinda like an unexpected pleasure."

"Unexpected? What makes you think that? As soon as you entered the bar, I knew… things would get better."

"You did?" Had he thought I'd come looking for him, to help him out?

"Whatever we were doing, the party never got started until you showed up."

Ah, he was talking about the war years now. "I was rather reckless at times, but Deathscythe was an amazing piece of machinery to operate."

"I guess, but I was thinking of just you, joking around, lightening things up. Sometimes the difference between tolerable and unbearable was your attitude."

I felt the heat rise and I melted inside. _Someone noticed?! _I felt the blood rush to my face and couldn't find a place to look or a thing to say to compose myself. Trowa set down the scrubber.

"So, how hot?"

Oh very, very hot indeed. And—I'd said that aloud.

He snorted and looked slightly perturbed. "I need a number to set the oven temperature to. There's no 'very hot' setting."

Potatoes, bake, oven. Geez.

I managed to get the rest of the meal prepared. Nothing was burned, undercooked, or gourmet, but nothing was left over, either. We topped it off with another belt from his liquor cabinet just one glass, watered down this time, and kicked back for an evening of free entertainment on TV.

Watching the nature show on the ocean floor geared my mind toward the sentimental. I related to the limpet, scouring the rocks for a scrap to eat. I'd just scraped by most of my life.

Working the scrap heap with Hilde had been a blip on the radar, I guess. For a year or so, I'd had a place of my own, a job where I could smash apart and dismantle things and restore other things, bringing in money. A constant income furnished me with an abundance of food and luxuries unknown to a street rat teenager. I'd made a success of my life.

If only I could have changed sexes like that sea slug; at least, changed my sexual preferences and have fallen in love with her. Could I have been a husband to her? Would she have been happy with me? Probably not. I wasn't interested in what I could have; only in the impossible.

Oh, pretty fish. Jellyfish were beautiful, ephemeral. And illusive, too, because they were killers, once you knew what those stinging tentacles were about. You could see right through them, like some people I'd known.

About the time the oyster bed became decimated by invasive starfish hunters, I was starting to fade. Trowa had finished in the bathroom, so I got up and took my turn. I guessed that I was an acceptable bedmate since I hadn't been kicked out yet; at least, Trowa hadn't said anything to the contrary. Would he?

I was lying in that great big bed for the longest time before I could rest. It gave me time to think about my current situation and what was to become of me. I rarely thought about the past. That was just thinking backwards. When you were living on the streets you only had time and energy to think about the present and the soon-to-be. Currently, I was fed, safe and comfortable. I had a friend and a purpose, even if it was a short-lived one cooking and entertaining Trowa. That acted like a lullaby for a baby, and I fell asleep.

I woke up hearing a strange noise. It was close, like a sick dog or a dying child. I heard it again-- a mixture of moan and whimper, and it was coming from Trowa. He was curled up in a tight ball with his back turned my way. I wondered if I should touch him, offer him some human comfort. Should a gay man touch a straight one, uninvited, in bed? Flee or friendship?

I decided that I could fall back on being half asleep and reached out for his shoulder. The result was nearly instantaneous. He twisted around, spinning me about, and curled his body around mine, holding tight. I was afraid to breathe and then I could hardly breathe, his grip was so tight. I shared a real understanding of the plight of that poor oyster trapped in the arms and legs of the starfish.

"Trowa."

He grunted and eased up a bit. And it felt so good, being held like that. I'd missed the contact of somebody so much. I didn't move. I hardly breathed. I wanted the feeling to last as long as possible.

* * *

TBC


	3. Recovery

**For a Lark**

**A Valentine's Day Story**

When Duo Maxwell runs into a comrade from the past, will it spark a friendship, or something more?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me to complete this, and to all you lovely readers out there.

**Warnings:** AU, male/male pairings, language

**Chapter 3 – Recovery**

* * *

Red flashed through my eyelids and a shrill alarm bell made my teeth vibrate. I flew out of bed, nearly running into Trowa. He grasped my arm and I spun about.

"It's okay, dude. It's the Friday emergency test."

"What ? What do I do?" Adrenalin had sent my heart pounding. I was on full alert.

"Nothing. It ought to shut—"

The interior warning light blinked out. We were standing in the dark. The apartment siren shut down; although, I could the faint whine of other warning signals through the walls.

"--down. There's a box by the door where you can cut the signal, which I did."

"What if you're not home?"

Silence, as in the alarms stopped.

"They, ah, time out. The test only lasts a minute."

"Oh." We were standing in the doorway to his room, in the dark, with his hand gripping my arm to keep me from dashing off madly, I guess. I felt the tension drain from my limbs and heart rate return to normal. "So, wanna eat?"

"Ah, sure, but I can't. No food before surgery. That's today."

"It's Friday already?"

"Four o'clock AM, yeah."

"I'm going back to bed."

"'Kay. Guess I will, too."

I could have fallen back to sleep in a second, but Trowa chose now to get chatty. I suppose he was nervous about his leg.

"So, you doing okay here?" he asked.

"Yeah. It's a lot more interesting a place than I expected."

"Really? Trust you."

That was something nobody else was likely to do. "You mean, you don't like this place?"

"It's better with you."

Whoa, what could I say to that? "Thanks." I was touched. "Can't think of anyone else who might think I improved their home. No one. Really. Means a lot to hear that." I'd embarrassed him with my effusiveness, I guess, because he'd clammed up and was hiding behind his bangs. "So, why choose this satellite?"

"I guess it was the best Catherine could do. It's expensive to do the leg repair, put me up. And this doctor would work on an ex-Gundam pilot."

"Pilot, yeah. We can be rough on medics. And this place is out of the way enough to be cut-rate."

"It's that," he agreed. "You, ah, can check for messages, if you want. Over there. There's time."

"Ah, sure." I didn't expect any, since I'd closed my last account before leaving L2 and hadn't bothered to start a new one, but I'd didn't want Trowa to think I was a complete loser, so I used his computer and roamed about a bit. I was getting into one of his arcade games, when he said it was time to go. "Ready!"

I skipped breakfast, too, so as not to rub it in his face. I could always eat while he was in surgery. We retraced our previous route, taking a "spoke" tram to the hospital. This time we went directly to admissions.

The clerk walked him through a blizzard of paperwork. Midway, Trowa asked if I wouldn't mind being his contact person. He was giving me next-of-kin responsibility and power of attorney to make life or death decisions for him while unconscious.

"You're sure you want me to do all that?" I asked, pointing out the line detailing the responsibilities in case he missed it. It seemed like something he'd rather have his sister listed to do.

"You're here. I trust you."

Okay. Now that was good. "Okay, then."

I signed the document adding a little flourish under my name, like what a scythe might make. It was just an affectation I'd picked up for fun. When Trowa took back the paper he traced the wavy line with a finger and nodded.

"Slice and sweep," he muttered to himself. He didn't tell me what that meant or what the mark had meant to him, but that was all right. I was getting used to his cryptic remarks by now.

"What's this?" the clerk asked, flipping through the final work order attachments. "Special treatment?"

I had no idea what she was talking about, but took the sticker she handed me.

"Put this on now and keep it visible." When Trowa cleared his throat she clarified her request. "It's a pass to the observation room so you can watch the surgery. These are reserved for medical students usually."

"Maybe I am a medical student." I could be.

She snorted. "Everyone knows who you are. Both of you." She smiled for the first time, so I guessed she'd been gung-ho for the Gundam fighter pilots during the war. "You have clearance to remain with the patient up until he enters the operating room and then again when he is moved to post op. If you behave."

"He will," Trowa assured her.

"I will," I said at the same time.

It did make me wonder what I'd done to get a bad rep at an out-of-the-way outpost like this, until I caught her smile. It must have been a Gundam fighter thing she was thinking of and not the recent me.

"You two are so cute," she said, but quickly regained her serious demeanor. "I'm holding up progress. The schedule is very tight here."

Trowa stood ready to leave. "I'm ready. What's next?"

I was still chafing under the "cute" description and missed some of the woman's answer. What was next, I learned, was locating the "prep" arena and putting him in a room where he changed out of his clothes and into a light robe. We had the doctor's permission for me to be present at all times, except the actual operating room, so I was stuck in the rather small changing room with little else to do than turn my back. That I studiously did. When he was enrobed, I folded his clothes and stored them in a drawer with his shoes. This ate up just enough time so that we didn't have to wait more than a minute before there was a knock on the door.

"Looks like your ride's here," I joked.

"Right."

He climbed onto the gurney and waited as the nurse ran him through her battery of tests. She drew blood, took his temperature and blood pressure. She handed him a water bottle and a cup of pills.

He shook the cup in order to see all the pills and identify them. He looked over at me to say, "Knock out drugs," and then tossed them back and swallowed them all with a gulp of water.

"Lie down and rest. An intern will be right by to take you to surgery, Mr. Barton." The nurse swished out of the room leaving us to wait once more.

His eyelids drooped. "Stay?"

"Absolutely. Letting me into the observation room so I can keep an eye on you the whole time? You got one hell of a doctor. I might get over my hospital phobia after this."

"You… have one…too?"

He was fighting the medication, I could tell, but he needed to let go and let the drugs take him under. He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer, so I talked and reached for his hand. I almost didn't but, hell, he'd probably forget this part later and I believed he needed a direct link, a security line.

"Oh, yeah. I'm as bad as 'Ro. Well, maybe not as bad. I wouldn't mess with my own broken bone. It's being so vulnerable to attack that gets me. But you don't haveta worry 'bout that. I'm here to watcher back, like I said I would. How're you doing?"

He didn't answer. He was asleep, trusting me to protect him. I rubbed the back of his hand with my thumb, noticing the tan and freckles. That's what made him standout here, a tan, marking him as an Earth-sider. The UV rays were blocked for the most part on the colonies, giving us residents a unifying pallor. Trowa looked healthy. I wondered if that was why I was attracted to darker-skinned men like Art and, at one time, Wufei and Heero?

The tanned skin meant Trowa had spent some of his time at the circus working outside. I'll bet he liked that. I would. I think humans were meant to live under the sun and sky and with nature. Tan and strong. And I successfully fought back any thoughts of how those hands would feel on my body. Better just to keep a platonic point of view about him, although it was increasingly difficult as I discovered things I liked about the guy—like his eyes and tan and smile when I'd teased one out.

I'd never noticed how much larger his hands were than mine. Must have come from the acrobatics. Calluses, too.

That's when I noticed the pale line where a ring had been. I knew he'd not worn a ring at any time since I'd been there. I would have noticed that kind of thing. So, he'd recently taken off a ring, on his ring finger, which he'd worn for a few months; at least, long enough to leave a line. Could he have broken up with a girl before or because of the accident? That would have explained his depressed attitude.

The intern entered the room, maintaining a sort of hush, bustled about, strapping Trowa's arms in place and securing him to the gurney.

"Did anyone tell you what to expect?" he asked, as he wheeled Trowa out.

"No. All I know is that I get to 'observe'." I touched the sticker badge on my shirt.

"Lucky you." The interned slowed for a corner then pushed on. "Once I get him into surgery, he will be hooked up to monitoring devices and IV. Then the doctor takes over. There's not much to see, but it might be interesting for you."

I trotted along, going as far as the final swinging doors.

"So, here's where we part ways." He tilted his head to the side. "You go that way."

"Thanks," I said, and then found my way to the observation deck. Somebody thoughtfully designed the place with starving students in mind and lined the hallway with refreshment dispensers. Food from machines it was, but I was hungry enough to eat it.

As far as the actual surgery was concerned, I didn't really watch. I kept my eye on how things were going, but most of the time it was too far away. I'd have to stand right up to the window and look down and, well, I didn't wanna see the details. There were high-tech devices for attaching muscles to bone and one to test it. One peek and I saw the leg muscle twitch. That was… enough of that for me. The next real look I had, they were fusing a skin layer over it all. Better. It may have been grown from his own skin samples, but it wasn't tan so it looked fake.

"Okay, Mr. Maxwell," a pert nurse with an energetic voice said at my door, "the patient is being taken into recovery now. He's still asleep, but you want to be there when he wakes up."

"Indeed I do!"

I met Trowa's doctor, who was checking his stats from numerous machine readouts. I gave her a cheerful "hello," and waited for her to finish.

"There," she said while jotting another note on his chart. "The procedure went marvelously. No complications and his augmented immune system has begun to operate. I expect him to sleep most of the time over the next twenty-four hours."

"Here?" Where would I stay? The only chair in the room, made out of hard, molded plastic, looked inhospitable for the duration.

"Only until he awakens. We'll check his condition and if all is well, send him home with you."

"Okay, but he's not going to be able to walk, is he?" Did she expect me to carry him on my back?

"Oh, no." Her laugh was nice and didn't make me feel stupid for asking. She told me about the hospital delivery tram and how he'd be deposited in his bed without me lifting a finger.

My relief was apparent, I guess, because she continued to take the time to explain things clerks probably did ordinarily. I'd never before known a doctor to discuss anything with me.

"I've been thinking about his recovery. You know, for serious reconstructive surgery to repair takes time, but that is nothing compared to the time it will take to recover his former strength and movement."

"Yeah," I agreed. "We checked out a gym and signed up. I'll work out with him."

"That's a good idea, and he'll be ready for that level of exercise in a few weeks, but this new tissue is brand new and might tear under normal conditions. For the kind of physical therapy he'll require, I was thinking of our low gravity gym."

"You have one of those? Man, Trowa would so love that. He's great in low-G environments." Me, too!

"That's wonderful. Now, if I could get a hold of a therapist who can work in those conditions…"

"I can. I'm a born zero-G'er."

"But you're not trained –"

"You got video connections inside? A trainer could show me what to do. I'm pretty agile. C'mon, I wanna do something to help. At this point, I'm an uninvited guest taking up space."

She smiled and folded her arms. "You are more than a just a guest. His attitude has improved measurably. I noticed it at the last appointment."

Better? "He's kinda an introvert by nature."

She didn't pressure me to say more about him. "Having you do the bulk of the work would save him some money, too."

"Oh, Geez, I'll bet the special facility place costs a fortune. I got some money. It's no fortune, but if it could help out a fellow warrior—"

And her expression changed from thoughtful to enlightened. "You're veterans. He should qualify for veterans' benefits. It should help him pay for at least part of his expenses."

"You think so?" Why had no one mentioned this before to me, to us? Any of us? "I've never heard that Gundam pilots qualified for anything but possible death at the hands of a firing squad." I smiled as her eyes widened. "We also have had our fans."

"You're a doll."

"Doll?!" I was thinking Mobile Doll suits, naturally, and it took me a second or two to think of little girls' dolls. Even so--

"Listen," the doctor said to reclaim my wandering attention, "I have an insane amount of work to do and must go now, but I will look into this vet issue and schedule the low gravity room for you and your friend." She turned to Trowa and pointed at a monitor. "He should be up in a few minutes. I'll have the nurse finish with him, and as long as he's agreeable, I'll send you both on your way. He'll do better convalescing in his own home than here, don't you think?"

"Yeah. Thank you."

She was right about Trowa awakening soon. The door had hardly closed behind her than his eyelashes fluttered and his eyes were suddenly staring into mine. "It's over?"

"Hey, you're back. Yeah, the operation was a blinding success. Soon as this nurse I see coming our way checks you out, we get to go home. How does that sound?"

"Good. Real good." He actually tried to sit up, the twit. "Ugh. I'm going to need another minute or two."

The nurse was truck sized and nearly ran me down getting to him. "You're going to need more than that. Now lie back down while I check your blood pressure."

Everything was fine, good enough to give him clearance to go.

"Ready?" I asked him, although he looked more ready to sleep than move.

He nodded, though.

"Let's do it, baby," I joked, because actually there wasn't much for either of us to do.

While he was sealed into a traveling gurney, I collected his clothes. By the time I was done signing him out at the desk, he was loaded onto the hospital tram. I hopped on board and we were outside his apartment in fifteen minutes. I shouldn't have worried about how I was going to get him into his place and into bed.

I should have thought about getting clear of the locked doors without a pass key card. I still didn't have one of my own and for the life of me I couldn't find his in his pants pocket. This was ridiculous, but I wouldn't be defeated. These guys handling the gurney were real pros, but they couldn't get us past the door. I stood there maybe thirty seconds thinking.

"Hold on!" I told them. "I'll be right back!"

Coming back around to the main "street", I crossed it and continued on until I found the hardware-type store I'd spotted my first day. In the back of the store, I located a standard, gray work shirt and cap, and with the help of a clerk, bought a four-foot metal ladder and an alarm of the kind used in elevators. I pulled the work shirt over mine, traded caps, put mine at the bottom of the bag with the alarm conspicuously on top. With the ladder's nest-to-the-last rung resting on my right shoulder, I set out for Trowa's place.

I winked at the medical team in passing, and whispered a, "One more minute."

This time, I walked straight to the building, where the doorman, faintly surprised, opened the door and said, "Yeah?"

"Alarm," I told him, showing it. "Didn't pass the test Friday."

The doorman looked at the box. "For what?"

"Elevator."

"The elevator? Nobody told _me_."

"Well, they told me, replace the alarm."

"Which elevator?" he asked.

I wanted his attention away from Trowa's room and what was going on. "In the back."

Sounding dubious, the doorman said, "Go ahead. They didn't tell me a thing about it. Here, I'll show you."

"Thanks, pal," I said, and carried the ladder past the lobby and to the back. "Could you hold the elevator door open a sec. Dropped my wallet."

The doorman grumbled but took the ladder and wedged open the door. I dashed back to the front door, opened it, and called in the medical team. "Take him to number three and I'll be there in a jiff."

I smiled down into Trowa's face as the gurney passed. Sleeping like a baby. Good. Didn't want him to know about this idiocy. I returned to the scene of my crime, relieved the doorman of his burden, and boarded the elevator. Inside I opened the ladder and started up it, and the elevator door closed.

Having no further need for the ladder, I closed it and left it leaning in the elevator, pressed the next floor number, and switched caps and shucked the shirt into the bag. I immediately pushed the top floor, and then I got out. As the ladder took a ride to the top, my sack of evidence and me took the stairs to Trowa's floor. The crew was waiting by his door.

"This part's easy," I bragged. Having made it this far on my skills I was a bit cocky.

Pulling a wire from my braid was a trick with my braid down my pants, but I did it. It took me no time to blow the electronic lock on Trowa's door and we were in. Heh, heh, I was good.

"You sure we should leave this guy here?" one on the crew asked another. He kept a wary eye on me all the time.

"It's his place according to the address on the delivery orders."

That must have been good enough because they continued on to Trowa's room, moved him to the bed, and set out a few boxes of bottles and other medical-related supplies.

"Here are the instructions for his care for the next few days. After that you are to call in for updates." This from the mistrustful one, who it looked like he wanted to get the hell away from the lunatic guy, which was me. He edged the gurney closer to the way out.

"Okay." I leafed through the manual as thick as my finger. "Anything I should know right off?"

"Keep him hydrated. He'll sleep for hours, so you have time to read about the medications." That was the second medic. He took a bottle out of the box and pressed it into my hand. "This one's for pain."

"Mine, or his?" I meant it as a joke, but these dudes had no sense of humor and grumbled on their way out about crazy "spacers". I'd been called worse.

I looked Trowa over and decided he was down for the count awhile. I needed to eat something before I passed out. Now that I was used to eating twice a day, or, better, three, my body was geared for it. Nothing looked better than that refrigerator full of possibilities. Baked potato with cheese and broccoli for me.

After eating, I thought I'd see how my buddy was doing, and he was sleeping peacefully. Nice. I noticed a blinking light on the vid phone by his side of the bed, providing me with another dilemma. Should I check for messages on Trowa's machine, or not? I decided that since it might be from his doctor I'd better look. I carried the phone assembly around the bed, resting it on my bedside table, and plugged it in.

There was one message and it was from Hilde with her number, but no message.

I picked up the phone to return the call.

"I suppose you know why I'm calling," she said.

"Dumb supposition. If I knew, I probably wouldn't call back."

I heard her snort, impatiently. "I'll ignore that for now," she said. "Here's the point, you left some boxes at the shuttle station."

"Yeah. And when I'm ready, I'll have them delivered. What's the problem?"

"They only hold for a week unless it's in the prepaid, long-term, storage lockers, which your stuff is not. Week's up and they want to know where to send them on to."

Ah, shit.

"I could just let them trash it all, you know." She seemed as keen to end our conversation as I was.

"Send them here." It was Trowa. Eyes open, head turned my way. "Give her this address, Duo."

So, I did. I didn't tell her it was Trowa's address, though. I didn't explain how it was that I'd run into him, or what was up. She may have been curious. She must have heard his voice, though I know he was out of the viewing reception range, and so she couldn't have seen him. After I gave her the pertinent facts, the stilted, uncomfortable conversation mercifully ended.

When I shut off the call, I thanked Trowa. "It isn't much, just a few mementos, but they mean a lot."

He nodded and closed his eyes. "No problem."

"You need anything? Water? Bathroom? Pain killer?"

"Water's good."

After a drink, I helped him sit up and relieve himself using a handy little contraption from the box sent with him from the hospital. When he was comfortable again, he seemed tired but not willing to conk out just yet. He stared at me, waiting. That's how he was. He wouldn't start the questioning until I was ready.

"You wanna know about me and Hilde?"

He nodded. "I've got nowhere to go and nothing to do but listen."

"Heh, heh, well then you'll get the long version, starting with…"

"The last time I saw you in person was that party at the palace."

"Right. _That._ After _that_, I needed a place to go and I had an escape plan already. Hilde and I worked a scrap yard on and off during the war. She sorta expected me to return when it was over, so when things didn't work out there in Sanc, to say the least, which is exactly all I'm saying on the subject, I contacted her to see if the offer were still open. It was.

"It wasn't part of the Sweepers, then."

"The Sweepers often sold us crap they'd collected out in space. We'd recycle was we could, selling parts and scrap metal. Good business, all around. I had a one-room cabin of my own at the yard. She had a bigger place and there was a barracks for temporary, itinerant workers."

"Sounds like a big operation."

"Yeah, not at first, but it grew big. And that started one of the problems."

"Always does," Trowa remarked. "Get successful and you attract attention."

"Yep." How to put the next part without sounding like a loser?

"Were you and Hilde ever married?"

That was direct and unexpected coming from Trowa. So far, past relationships were not topics of conversation with us. I hadn't thought he would ask me about the extent of our relationship.

"No, which was the nub of our problems, I guess."

"Her opinion. Not yours, I'd expect."

"Heh, heh… yeah. I made it the problem. See, the business drew interested buyers, folks wanting to buy into a going concern, since startups on L2 mostly fail. One of the parties had a son—"

"Uh, uh. Bad news."

"Right, you are! He starting dating Hilde and I don't know if it was for her share of the business or if he really liked her—"

"Tough call." His crooked smile suggesting sarcasm, as if I could miss it in his voice.

"Yeah, well, he treated her nice and the dating got serious and," I sighed because this was the hardest part for me to tell. "She told me he wanted to marry her, but that if I wanted that for us, then she'd put him off."

"That was uncool, putting you on the spot that way."

"I thought so, but then she had the crush and I didn't. I could have married her, I guess. It would have secured my future, that's for sure. It's just… I was holding out for the right thing. You know? Some romantic notion of marrying the… person… I was madly in love with and who was just as crazy about me. This other thing would have been convenient, but it felt forced."

"It was. You turned her down?"

"Yeah, and she accepted his offer."

"Which led to selling out to the father."

"Yeah. I mean, I got a bundle for my part of the business, but I also lost my job, because I couldn't work there any more under the circumstances, and I lost my house for the same reason."

"So, here you are."

"So, here I came, and after a multitude of tips, leads, and helpful hints, I came to find you at the end of my trails."

"Sorry." He looked away into the distance. "Sorry I couldn't have been… what you were looking for."

"Who says you weren't? I found a friend when I needed one and now I have a purpose; to help that friend get his legs under him again, so to speak."

And then Trowa blushed. I'd embarrassed him, but I was glad I had, because it meant he believed I was sincere.

It wasn't until after he dozed off again that it occurred to me that Hilde called Trowa's number to get me. I supposed she'd contacted everyone else and was just taking a chance someone would know where I was. Still, it was odd, I'd only been here a week.

* * *

TBC


	4. Renewal

**For a Lark**

**..:~:.. ~*~..:~:.. A Valentine's Day Story..:~:.. ~*~ ..:~:..  
**

When Duo Maxwell runs into a comrade from the past, will it spark a friendship, or something more?

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of Gundam Wing or its characters, nor do I make any monetary profit off this story.

A/N: My deepest thanks go to the kindness of Snowdragon and WaterLily for editing and encouraging me to complete this.

**Warnings:** AU, male/male pairings, language

**Chapter 3 – Renewal **

* * *

Modern medicine could work miracles. Rebuilding bone, muscles, and skin would have been impossible without it. But when it came to building the muscle, regaining balance and strength, technology's answers fell short. It meant hard work and lots of it. I didn't know if Trowa had enough drive to do it, but I did. I would have to supply the missing will-power to get him up off the bed and out the door to the antigravity gym.

I was getting a little ahead of myself, though. Actually, he would need a few days of rest to give his body a chance to accommodate all the changes and for his immune system to kick in. Thankfully, Trowa was amenable to following directions, taking his meds, and letting me wait on him. I gotta say, though, that Trowa with a three-day growth of beard was awesome. He had the look of a frontiersman of lore. Very sexy, actually.

I told him so; the frontiersman part, geez.

His hand flew to his face and he scratched at the bushy growth, and I could have sworn his ears reddened ears. "Itchy. I need a bath."

"I'll help," I said without thinking. "Ah, you know, getting you to the shower and all." Gulp. I'd do whatever he needed, but I was bending over backwards to avoid sounding like a pervert. Sharing bathing facilities with other men provided me with fantasies and horrors galore-- beautiful bodies, glistening wet, creating a minefield of dangers, like meaty fists ready to pulverize my face for observing them and probably kill me; let's not forget that part, because they wouldn't.

"Okay," he said with a huge sigh. "Is that lunch? Smells great."

"You're a great patient, Tro." I set the makeshift tray on the bed beside him and scooted it to within his reach. I had made us both tinned, ham-spread sandwiches with pickles on the side and a fruit drink.

"It's the least I can do," he said as he reached first for a pickle. "I can't see how making this any more difficult on me or you would help. Where did you find these?"

"Well, that import grocery store we went to the last time got these in. Now that I'm here, I guess, they're interested in beefing up their offerings. I love pickles."

"Quatre sends you jars of pickles, too?"

"All the time. Hooked me. Middle Eastern pickles are great. Which reminds me, I'd better let him know I'm here. Wouldn't want a pickle shipment to go to L2 by mistake."

Trowa grunted in a new way.

"He knows you're here, right?" Hilde had to get the number from someone.

"I didn't tell anyone."

Our eyes met over pickles. "Why not? The guys are your friends," I asked not expecting an answer.

Maybe I was hoping the other four ex-pilots weren't all close buddies while I was culled from the flock and disregarded. It hadn't hurt so much when I was busy with work, or later when I had been in my own mess and hardly noticed that no one called me much.

"That's okay, bud. You don't have to tell me. I kinda get running and hiding when things aren't going great. Like on that show last night, remember? The big cat that got hurt hid itself from the others. Weak meant vulnerable, which meant you were dead meat."

He nodded; I think he meant it as "gratefully." I took another bite of sandwich. Then again, he'd asked me to change channels midway through the show, so possibly he was just humoring me so I'd talk about something else. I thought he liked handling the big cats in the circus, too. Before I could quiz him about that, the front door buzzer sent me out of the room. "Wonder who that can be?"

I didn't bother with call boxes. It wasn't that far from the lobby. I waved at the doorman to let in the caller, who was wearing some type of uniform, and carrying two boxes, one large. The hospital?

"Hello."

"Hi, I'm Marc from the hospital. I have a delivery for Mr. Barton."

"Thanks, Marc. I'm Duo and since he's unable to move, I guess I'll take whatcha got." I led him back to room number three and held open the door.

"The big box contains a special walker to help him gain some motility. This will allow him to leave the building and get to his workouts."

"He'll love this then, thanks for bringing it by."

Marc handed me both cartons and left. I toted the tiny one and dragged the large one to the bedroom.

"What is it?" Trowa called from his room.

"A walker for you for later and I don't know about this." I handed him the small box to open for himself while I tackled the walker carton.

"Uh, Duo? This is the pass key to an apartment."

"Oh, great! It must have fallen out of your clothes when I carried them out."

"How did you get in to the apartment? I know the doorman kept the building owner out when he arrived without a pass."

"Heh, heh… well—," I began, and so I charmed him with a retelling of my handyman act and lock picking job. And he was amused. He laughed out loud and nearly spilled his drink. He had a full laugh that came from deep inside. It warmed me all through.

I know there was a time when I thought Trowa suffered from expression deficient disorder, but not any longer.

"So the lock's busted still?" The smirk on his face suited him.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Get me the vid phone."

He put in a work order for a new lock and two-- that's T-W-O key passes. One for me. Me. That was so cool.

"If I'd known you'd done that, I would have broken your lock on the first day, heh, heh…"

"If I'd know you could cook, I would have invited you sooner."

That made me blush with the blood racing upwards to my face so fast it burned. "I'll set up that walker and you can give it a try; if you can get off that fat ass of yours."

"'S not fat!" he shouted to my retreating back.

I knew that, _obviously_. In the past few weeks living under the same roof, lying side by side in bed, helping him with a bedpan, changing clothes, yes, I'd noticed that his was a very toned, highly desirable ass, damn it anyway.

Shit! I would have to go out, shake up some action. Art the bartender came to mind. He'd headed me in the right direction once before. Maybe _he'd _dance with me. _Anything_. I wanted to be touched, feel the hard panes of a man's chest crushing against mine, pulse into a warm channel. Argh! I had to get the image of Trowa's hot as hell ass out of my head. But would he mind me leaving him alone and going out? He surely was tired of being cooped up, too, and it would be a rather callous thing to do.

I had the parts out of the box and paused to read the instructions. No sweat. Connecting parts went fast. Fit "A" into "B" and slide back and forth until lock engages. In… out. Out…in.

Ah, geez…could I make any more sexual connections? Jerking off in the shower I would do. Later. After he was asleep.

With the walker assembled I saw that he could rest a knee on the support and push with his good leg, never having to put weight on the injured leg. I tried it out, raised the height a little to accommodate his extra inches, then imagined how he'd look using it. Those sinewy arms, broad shoulders with muscles bulging with the effort of supporting his weight.

Holy Moley! I was going to have to get us a futon so I could have a bed of my own. Yeah. That would help. There had to be a variety here of my favorite Sanc store, Futon Fusion, that carried the super-deluxe model made from Sanq Red Oak. I'd had one like that on L2 and loved it. Ugly as hell with its massive carved headboard, but grooving Gothic style. Should have kept it. Yeah, and carried it on my back to the shuttle?

"Okay, fat ass, I have this ready for you, but the note from the doc says not to go out for two more days." I rolled it into the bedroom, where he was up on an elbow, watching me. "So you can get used to it in here a few days before we go out."

"We're… going out?" The hitch in his voice made me wake up to what I'd said.

_Going out._ I was close to slipping up royal now! Those words coming from, say, Quatre, who was dating the Queen of the World herself, it would mean "going out the door." Coming from me, who had been known to ask a guy out for a date, it implied "going out on a date." I had to set that straight fast.

"Yeah. Says here you have your first appointment in three days at the Low Gravity Gym, that's in caps, too."

"Low Grav—that costs a fortune. Duo, you are not paying for--!"

"Don't get your sweats in a twist there. You are covered by your veterans' benefits."

I grinned because he didn't know. The carton contained his benefit confirmation. I wondered if the other ex-pilots knew they qualified as veterans, and pushed away the notion that they did and hadn't bothered to share that information with me-- or Trowa, apparently.

"What--?"

"We are war vets and get health benefits. Probably a whole lot more, like education and loans and stuff. Doc said she'd have the office look into it, and it looks cool for you. So we go do your workouts in low gravity until Doc says your leg can take your full weight."

I looked away as he wiped at his eyes beneath his bangs. "T-thanks."

"My pleasure, to be sure."

Blushes _and _tears. Trowa must have felt secure around me to reveal that range of emotions. Maybe it was a first, or maybe I'd just never noticed before. I hoped the later wasn't true. I hated to think I had been so blind to this man's quiet presence as to miss his sensitivity.

He needed to drink liquids so I brought him a soda. After that, Trowa took a nap. There was no use fighting the drugs he was taking, and one of them was intended to knock him out. I took that important shower and felt less *tense* afterward.

The locksmith arrived to repair the shorted-out lock. He was baffled as to how such a thing could have happened. Playing dumb, I agreed that it was quite the puzzle. He removed and replaced the entire unit, then insisted that he show me how to use it properly so I wouldn't "bust" it again. I thanked him-- rather than "busting" in his face-- and he left me with a pair of passes.

The pass key to Trowa's place looked like any other, but to me it was genuinely special. A truly unexpected friendship had come out of nowhere at the best of times, and this card was a concrete representation of it. My key.

When I looked in on Trowa, he was still sleeping, so I tottered off to the kitchen to prepare our dinner. I cooked a fabulous, meat stew bursting with odoriferous goodness, tossed up a vegetable-rich salad, which I stowed back in the refrigerator to chill, and baked cookies. I was so happy. It wasn't unbound joy or anything that extreme, but it was a high I hadn't felt for many months. Maybe a year. Had I really been unhappy for that long?

"Duo?"

Trowa was awake and taking his meds with the remnants of the flat can of soda.

"Yeah?" I padded into his room and sat on the edge of the bed. "What can I get you?"

His eyes traveled across the bed to my braid. This time he surprised me by grabbing the tip. "It's wet." He looked up at my face. "You had a shower."

Oh, God, he wanted one. "You ready for yours? How about we test out the walker and get you cleaned up?"

"Okay. There's a cover to put over the cast to keep water out at the top and bottom. Over there."

"Found it."

While I pulled the plastic sleeve over the cast and secured the openings top and bottom, he stripped off his t-shirt. He was wearing sweat shorts, which would have to go.

"You have a clean set to change into?" I asked.

"Closet floor."

I found things cleaner than what he'd had on and made a mental note to do laundry later.

The walker was a lifesaver. He was terribly weak, the bulk of his energy resources apparently still being spent on healing. I set the water temperature and collected towels, shampoo, soap, and a razor. He rolled into the bathroom. I looked askance as he dropped the shorts, but I can tell you his was a pearly, white, luscious ass-- untanned. When he tried to get into the shower without the walker support, he nearly fell and would have had I not been close enough to catch him.

"Shit!" he hissed.

"No kidding! Don't want to break anything, bud. I'm gonna have to hold you under the spray."

He nodded. "Your clothes will get wet."

"I got more. I'll do a wash later, too. So, how about I support you from the back to start with?"

"Yeah."

Good thing we were friends, that's all I gotta say. It was all I could do to hold him up while trying not to get a hard-on. I could really fall for this guy. God, thinking _that_ sent a chill down my spine that hurt. I could have cried. I was loving my friend who could never be more. He needed my help, but I needed him. Oh, God… this was hard, er, bad.

With his back glued to my chest and my arms wrapped snugly around his waist, he washed his hair, face, chest, arms, and finally his privates. I helped scrub his back, upper back, not his ass. I didn't think I could have hidden my feelings if I touched him there.

Then he slammed off the water flow. "Shave later. Tired."

I believed him. He was flagging already. We did an awkward shuffle step to get him out and to his walker where he could rest his weight onto the one knee and towel off. I returned to and remained in the shower to peel off my wet t-shirt and jeans.

"Next time, remind me to take off the jeans first," I said. "This is stupid."

"I think I pointed that out," he had the gall to chuckle.

"Fuck you," I grumbled in mock anger. He chuckled more.

I squeezed out as much water as possible and draped both garments over the shower door, where they continued to drip. I dried off with my damp towel, tightening the towel around my braid a moment and then kicked my boxers to the side. I wrapped the towel around my hips and looked up. Trowa was staring at me.

The temptation to wiggle my hips and ask him if he liked what he saw was incredibly intense for a second. My inhibitions were breaking down around him, and that was a scary thing. Flirting with him would send all the wrong messages. I'd be out on my nose in a minute; even in his condition, I knew the man was strong. Just look at that torso, those arms—oh, Geez Louise.

"It's just water," I said. I had to say something to fill the space between us.

"Uh, huh." He held up a shaking hand. "I'd probably cut myself."

Shaving! I had to keep my mind on what he was saying. "How about you get in bed and I'll bring the shaving stuff in there?" Then I'd have to do it! What was I thinking?

"Okay."

I could get myself into the trickiest predicaments. First, I had to put clothes on and both my clothes and Trowa were in the next room. I wanted to give him time to put on something before blundering in, too. Drat! Life could be so complicated.

"It's okay now," he called out. Well, not so complicated. Sometimes, it seemed as if I was trying to construct a Gundam out of a soup can.

He was in bed, waiting. I did my darnedest to look nonchalant wearing only a towel as I crossed to the bed, under which was my bag of clothes. "Man, I'm almost out of everything." I didn't look his way as I yanked on a pair of dry boxers and dove back into the bag for pants and a shirt.

I shouldn't have been so worried. Trowa was resting, eyes shut. Why would he want to be checking _me_ out anyway? I was the gay one, not him. Plus, I wasn't much to look at. I was no hunk; I was rather skinny. I wasn't tall or dark or handsome. I was short and pale and my features tended to the delicate, shall we say effeminate? Not that I was girly. I was tough as nails. I just looked, well, pretty, or so I'd been told. Girls liked me because I appeared nonthreatening. Gay guys liked me because I looked like I'd bottom for them. Straight guys thought I was a pushover.

It hit me again how nice it felt to have a friend like Trowa like me for me. I owed him respect and a top-notch shave.

"I'll be back in a sec with the stuff," I said.

After gathering what I needed, I piled the things on the bed beside him, put on my professional face, and got down to business.

"So, I thought I'd put a towel under your chin, like that, yeah. Some shaving cream…and here I go."

Actually, it went fast. His beard hair was softer and thinner than mine. As he matured, his jaw line had retained its taper to a narrow chin that was strong, but not linebacker robust. His nose was straight and freckled, again displaying that sun-kissed proof of having lived out-of-doors on Earth. I shut off all temptation to kiss his lips, but I was tempted, and that irked me. Why couldn't I clear my head of those insane thoughts?! I scraped his cheeks baby-butt smooth again, and was done.

"I use an aftershave," I mentioned while dabbing at the leftover lather and cleaning him up.

"I've noticed. Sure, go ahead and give me the deluxe finish." He even gave me a quirky smile.

I laughed, slapped my limey-musk scented aftershave on his face, and collected the shaving tools.

"Feels good. Thanks, Duo." His hand caught one of mine as I gathered the towel, and he gave it a squeeze. "I'm beat again."

"It's too early for you to sleep. Why don't I move in the TV?"

"You can try."

I got his okay to move his TV into the bedroom, but doing it wasn't so simple. He hadn't a piece of furniture tall enough to put it on, but I was up for a challenge that day.

"Sorry. Can't help you," he said, yawning wide. The effect of the drugs on his system and physical effort of moving and bathing had drained him of energy.

Seeing that he was about to fall asleep again, I devised a plan. "I got it covered. Have a short nap and I'll be right back and we'll eat dinner. Need something at the grocery."

With my key in my pocket, I left Trowa, the current source of all my baser notions, and went out on my own. If I saw one more poster recommending a product to improve my sex life or to "Put some Romance into Your Life" I would scream. I seriously needed a man to distract me from thinking of Trowa as a sex object. I didn't want chocolates or flowers or underwear, well, I'd accept boxers, if they were plain. I wanted a lover's caress. I wanted more, but I'd settle for a dance and a romp.

However, I was currently searching for a crate. There had to be someplace where crates were stored. Everything we used on the satellites came in plastic crates that were used and reused. One of the smaller ones would make the perfect TV table.

My legs took me to my favorite grocery store, where I regarded the possibilities for a moment. I could steal or ask. Asking meant I could be turned _down_, and stealing could lead to me being turned _in_, if I was caught. It would be hard to hide a large plastic crate on my back. I stepped in and asked. To my delight the clerk took me to the back where piles of crates were stacked, waiting to be picked up and returned to the distributor.

"Be my guest. Take your pick. Some broken or get damaged. No one counts." He pointed to a corner I hadn't seen. "I'd take one of those. They got wheels."

Yes, they did. "I think I will. Easier to get it home. Would you write me up a receipt so I don't get stopped for stealing it?" I could have pulled off "worker" again and probably made it back without raising anyone's suspicions, but I was in a hurry to return to Trowa.

"I guess I can."

He wrote me up and let me out the freight exit in back, saving me a block of cart-rolling. The doorman actually held the door for me and the pass key worked like magic, allowing me entrance to the apartment.

"I'm ho-ome!"

Trowa had awakened, "What's that--? Oh."

I could tell Trowa was impressed as I rolled in his new furniture piece. It was the perfect height for the TV, and when it was all plugged in and providing him entertainment, I felt like I'd accomplished something for the day.

We ate our delicious dinner with the news while in bed. Pretty cool. We'd moved on to the cookies when the nature program came on about the savanna lions and hyenas fighting over a dead carcass. It was a good thing we'd finished with the rest of dinner, because after a half an hour show the dead animal parts didn't look that far removed from the stew I'd made.

When I asked Trowa about the behavior of the tame lions he worked with in the circus, he chided me in a sharp tone, "There are no tame lions, just trained ones."

He went mute after that and I knew him well enough to know when to shut the fuck up. By the time I'd cleaned up the kitchen, he was asleep again. After reminding myself to look into buying a futon for me to sleep on, I slipped under the covers and shut off the light.

That night he slept curled around me after another crying interlude in his sleep. It broke my heart to imagine his torments, but I was happy to relieve him of them temporarily when I could. If it weren't for the obvious need he had for me to be near, to cling to in his darkest moments while sleeping, I would have looked into buying a futon the next day.

After a few days of indoor rest and recovery, it was clear why eating in bed was frowned on; the place was a mess. I pulled the sheets after transferring Trowa to the dead-clown couch. Then I rolled the TV back into the front room for his entertainment, while I gathered kitchen and bath towels and tons of dirty underwear and left the apartment. The laundry was one floor down in the so-called basement. There I found a long line of empty washers, filled two, pushed the buttons for auto-detergent, and left to get the rest of our worn clothes.

There really isn't anything like straight forward, manual labor to clear your mind for more creative endeavors, like thinking and planning for our outing. I would be taking Trowa outside later in the day for his first physical therapy session. He was looking forward to the activity, and with the let up in the quantity of medication he was taking he was sleeping less and had more strength. I could see improvement each day.

I had been on the satellite for two weeks, and yet much about him was still an enigma to me. He hadn't informed any of our ex-pilot friends of his accident or of his new address. He, in fact, hadn't received any calls from anyone except his sister, who he said called when I was in the shower. Hilde's call was an unexplained fluke. So, he'd cut himself off from all his friends when he came to this satellite, one of whom had been important enough that he'd worn her ring up until then. And although his accident occurred while working at the circus, I was positive it had nothing to do with his acrobatics and something to do with the big cats. Something terrible. There were times when I felt he was on the verge of telling me what happened, but then a veil would drop between us and he'd change topics.

He was waiting for me, looking so fine, dressed, walker in line to escape out the door, when I brought up the last load.

"Fold later. We'll be late if we don't leave now," he told me.

"Okay." I actually went weak in the knees when he looked at me. "Damn it all," I grumbled to myself and kicked an errant sock out of my path, "this is no time to become irrational."

It was nice to see him so eager to do something for himself. It was also nice to see him upright. It was nice to just plain see him. Please, God, give me strength so I don't make a fool of myself, I thought to myself. I didn't want to blow this friendship like I had Heero's, such as it was.

The tram ride to the low-gravity gym took fifteen minutes. Walking to and from the stops with Trowa and his walker took longer. We were late and shooed in immediately by a therapist. He showed me what exercises I was to begin with, and I stopped him at that.

"More as we go along. That's good for a start." I waved him off and operated the doors admitting Trowa and me to the Zero-G room.

He and I had trained in places like this before becoming Gundam pilots. We adapted instantly to floating and once Trowa reached the equipment, there was no holding him back. Only the supervisor's screaming at us to let up and save something for the next visit stopped him. He'd had a great workout, a fun time, but he was tired from the first real exertion in a long time.

"That's time. Good work out, guys. Hey, Maxwell. You ever consider doing this for a living? Get away from that office work and be a physical therapist?"

I had to laugh. "Office work? What gives you the idea that I'm an office worker? My genetics aren't wired for office work!"

We had a laugh and he gave me a card. "There's a certification process, but you'd be able to pass after reading the handbook. Call me then and I'll see you get the low-gravity gym."

"Thanks. I'll give it some thought," I promised, and I would, later. I wasn't sure how much longer I'd be sticking around.

The showers were designed to accommodate patients with walkers; they even provided a water-safe cast-cover for Trowa's use. I was there to help him, and God was there to help me, just like Sister Helen said he would. Man, I hadn't thought about her for a long time, or the Maxwell Church, my namesake.

We stopped for dinner before going home. It gave Trowa a chance to rest and I hadn't had time to fix anything. His spirits were good in spite of feeling worn out.

"I can imagine myself walking on my own soon," he said rather dreamy-eyed. "I had my doubts awhile back that I'd get this far."

"Oh, I didn't," I mumbled. I was afraid to look him in the eyes, afraid he'd read my bald attraction for him. I didn't know what I was going to do about that, either. I just knew I'd eventually screw up and he'd know how much I was attracted to him.

"I know. You're really something, Duo, you know that? Something special."

"Er, thanks," I said aloud, but to myself I thought, _you wouldn't say that if you knew how I felt about you._ In fact, I thought it really hard, so hard I was afraid some of it may have leaked out.

When we got inside the apartment, Trowa made a beeline for the bathroom. I was happy he could get around by himself now. I sat at the couch and folded the last of the laundry, when I heard the beep from the vid phone signaling an incoming call.

"Get it," Trowa called from the bathroom.

I heard the water faucet start up. Great. I pressed the accept button with the "no-transmit image" option and a man's face flashed onto the screen.

I didn't know him. He was clean-shaven with hair the color of old gold, ashy and chin-length. Nice-looking; maybe thirty. Shifty-eyed.

"Okay, so you're not going show yourself. Hide away, then. Listen, I've put off this call for like forever, but it's hard."

The dude rubbed at his eyes and looked upset.

"I-I haven't wanted to admit how much of what happened to you was my fault. Facing you, to… say that to your face…" His voice choked up a moment; he had to stop before going on. "I will tell you how it happened. I promised—"

As much as I wanted to know this story, I really wanted to hear it from Trowa, and when Trowa was ready to tell it. I moved to shut it off, but stopped when his hollow voice started up again.

"I did love you, you know that."

_Huh?!_

"I-I didn't mean to drop the cage. It's just… when you said… it was over… I was so mad. It just slipped out my hands--,"

"Motherfucker!"

I jumped a foot at the sound of Trowa shouting at my back, and came down off balance, slamming into the vid phone panel and transmitting our images to the man on the other end.

The man saw me, his eyes going wide first then narrowing as his face darkened. "Who--? Replaced me rather fast, didn't you? Gotcherself a little bitch to ride."

Trowa lunged at the screen. "Shut up, you motherfucking asshole! You dropped that cage on me on purpose, and you and I know it!"

All his pent up angry passion came through enough to unnerve me completely. I could just stand frozen in place and watch everything play out.

"You were leaving me--!"

Trowa cut him off. "And you left me with the lions tearing into my leg. Don't tell me you didn't hear my screams!"

The man was sobbing. "At night… I can't sleep."

"Good! Can't help you with the guilt. Deal with it and don't call again." Trowa bit off each of those words with a vehemence I'd never heard pass his lips before.

Trowa moved to switch off the phone. The last thing I saw was the man's head swiveling around to catch sight of me one last time, then the monitor blinked out.

Oh, wow. My head was spinning. Had that been real?

Trowa had had a male lover, who'd left him to be mauled by lions when they'd broken up. Trowa was gay. He was mad. And hot. And collapsing on the bed. And so hot. And hurting.

No wonder he hadn't been taking very good care of himself when I'd arrived. I'd be depressed, too, if I'd gone through all that alone. And the ring! They must have been in a long term relationship before he'd broken in off.

And why hadn't he told me he was gay, at _least _that, knowing I was? But I could answer that one myself. He didn't want me hitting on him, obviously. It wasn't like he'd invited me here.

All my personal self doubts hit me at that moment. Now I knew his secrets and I would be unwelcome. I was a loser. Not at all what he needed now.

Man, and here I was harboring all these lurid cravings for him, and he was trying to get over—all that. I wanted to run and hide like nobody's business, but there I was closed up in his bedroom with only a few feet separating us. I pictured the poor little beast caught between the hyena and the lion, and that was me, except I knew Trowa was as miserable as I was, because at that moment he chose to open his eyes and one bloodshot one was staring at me.

My never-failing gift for the gab stepped up. "You're _gay_."

As earth-shattering as this was to me, in light of the other revelations, this was the least important to him, so possibly this was the best place to begin. The single, green eye blinked.

"God made me say it," I blurted out. That's my excuse.

And then his arms opened wide, beckoning me, maybe. "C'mere."

That I understood.

I fell into his arms and held him close. We rocked back and forth. Poor guy. Poor me. It felt so good to feel his warmth and not have to explain anything for awhile.

"He was a mistake. Older, experienced, available. I needed somebody, and he knew how to manipulate a dumb kid like me."

"You're not--!"

He pressed a finger to my lips. "I was then. It's long over. I cut him off when I caught him fucking some clown. Uh, an actual one."

"And he really tried to feed you to the lions? That's pretty extreme."

"He probably didn't plan it." He pulled away from me a bit, his eyes focusing on some distant object.

"We were repositioning a cage on its wheeled base, adjusting it. I don't know how--" He swallowed and closed his eyes.

The telling was painful, I could tell, and I wanted him to know he didn't have to tell me about it, but he patted my arm and squeezed, so I held my tongue and let him take his time. "-- but it slid off my way. The animals could have moved and shifted the balance," he said quickly, then paused again, gathering his thoughts. "It might not have been intentional, but he panicked and left me there. The result was the same."

He examined my face. "I've had plenty of time to get over him and see what a good… um… and equal, respect-based friendship really could be."

I caught the hesitation. I could feel our relationship shifting moment by moment. Hope made me bold.

"It can be even more," I proposed.

This was it. I either had a new home or would be looking for one again in the next minute. A minute, which felt like an hour as I waited for Trowa to react.

He smiled and took a deep breath. "I fell for you from start, you know."

Know? You gotta be kidding! My brain recoiled and my mouth shut down. "Huh?"

"When you were only fifteen."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Pick a revelation, any _one_ of them and explain!

"You always had eyes exclusively for Heero. I couldn't compare or compete with him."

Sure you could, you foolish, foolish man. "What a waste of time, for both of us."

"Yeah, and Heero reacted very badly when he found out you were both gay and hot for him."

"No shit! Imagine how Heero must have felt knowing how many times he'd innocently shared a bed with me during the war only to find out how attracted I was to him."

"Plus, he was an insecure asshole at the time."

"I don't know about the insecure part." I regarded Trowa for a moment, with a new appreciation for his taste.

"He was. I would have traded placed with him any time."

We both blushed at that, one feeding the other's embarrassment. After holding in those thoughts and feelings for so long, we were having trouble letting them out.

"I thought you and Quatre had a, ah, connection." I had, and it had made me think I'd have a chance with Heero, as it we were all gay or something.

"Nothing special." Trowa looked sad, and I wondered if he had suffered a one-sided crush, too. Maybe he'd tell me about that sometime. "We were worlds apart. Anyway, it shocked everyone when you kissed Heero that way."

"Ugh, don't remind me. I thought Wufei would have an apoplectic fit. Quatre went nearly catatonic. So much for his 'space heart' empathy."

"Yeah, well, I thought that kiss was hotter than hell, but seeing how the others reacted I knew you and I alone were gay. I wanted to tell you and comfort you after Heero lit into you. I pulled him off, but you took off like a banshee."

"Could you blame me?"

"No, besides, I didn't think that you'd have been thrilled with me as a second choice, and I hadn't ego enough to take a rejection."

"Had I known… who knows? Doesn't matter now."

"We got here, though. I can't believe it." His voice was all breathy.

"You can't? What about _me_? I never suspected something like this could happen when I walked into Art's bar and asked him to recommend a place."

Trowa startled me by leaning in to kiss me lightly on the cheek. "I need to tell you something about that."

"'Kay."

I couldn't do much more than wait. I just lay there transfixed on the bed, my heart pounding double time against the rhythm of the air filters. It had been the lightest of touches, which stirred my guarded passions, lighting my desire. One little kiss and I was on fire. My cheek still tingled where his lips had caressed me.

"Okay, the silence is killing me here. Clue me in on this Art dude."

Guilt spread over his face. Now, that was an interesting reaction.

"Does _Art_ know you and I are ex pilots? Is that why he pushed me in your direction?"

"I told him to be on the lookout for one in particular."

"Me? What made you think I would be coming out here?"

"The network."

"What network? What are you babbling about?"

"Hilde called Heero and he called Quatre who called Wufei. Wufei notified a few agents to make certain you got on the right shuttle."

"The one headed here."

"Yeah. Quatre made certain the Maguanacs' shuttle was ready to go."

"I thought the staff was familiar…" I trailed off, feeling a frown takeover my face. "What about Heero? He couldn't have cared less what happened to me."

"Not true. He felt bad, later; when it all sank in and I told him I was gay, too, so get over it."

"You told him that? That was very gutsy of you."

"I stunned him into _thinking _instead of just reacting. He was afraid to bungle an apology so he followed everyone's advice and kept away from you. Hilde called him when she could tell you were looking to leave and told him it was time to do something for you."

"So, Heero got a hold of Quatre to make sure I didn't go off the deep end?"

"To see that you ended up here where I could use a friend."

I studied him hard for a second. It didn't take long at all to make him uncomfortable and look away. "You don't strike me as the devious sort, though-- planning for a year or more to hook up with me."

His sigh of relief was a sign that he'd expected me to say something much worse. Poor guy. I was in love with him and he didn't know it.

"It wasn't all my doing; no, you're right. Catherine overheard me in my sleep moaning about stuff. She told me I called your name enough to figure out we must have been close friends. She tried to get you on L2, but by chance contacted Hilde. To be honest, I don't know what those two imagined we had going on."

"Hilde was pretty insensitive about cutting me off after the whole marriage thing fell through for us. I wonder if she thought I was hoping to hook up with you? That could explain some of Hilde's actions, depending on the timing of all this." He was searching my face this time so I let him see that I was more amused than angered or hurt. I raised my eyes and locked onto his, and I smiled. "So, she contacted Heero? Not you?"

He turned onto his stomach and readjusted his leg. I think he was trying to make sense of everything. Lord knows I was!

"After I established myself at the circus and got a boyfriend, I lost contact with the others, and you."

"Everyone was self-absorbed at the time, thinking back."

He blinked. "I suppose that's true. But I wanted to keep my life a secret. I don't think I was proud of who I'd become."

"I'm sorry about that." I was. I'd been proud of my business and all I'd managed to achieve, but I had been lonely as hell. "Being with you has been good for me. The more I think about it, I've been happier here with you than all of the last year on L2, and maybe longer than that."

Again, he smiled his half-smile, as if he was afraid to give too much and lose it all. "That's hard to believe."

"Believe it." I grinned.

I had nothing to lose now.

"So, me getting to here-- that was the network? To bring you and me together?" I frowned when I considered that longer. "What if it hadn't worked out—any of it? I mean, they all knew I had no place to go and you were in deep shit with your injury and would need help. We could have missed, like, you know, ships in the night. Would that have been _it_ for us? Would they have just neglected us forever?"

"I doubt it, but I just don't actually know. Considering Quatre was in on the planning, I can guess they had a backup plan C, D, and E. The 'injustice of it' would have been an affront to Chang, and you know how seriously Yuy took his missions. It wasn't likely that you'd desert me and … I did know you were on the way."

"Uh, huh." Drop the last shoe, circus-boy, the over-sized, funny one.

He flashed me the most minimal of smiles, warning me that something was coming. "I got a call from Catherine saying you'd left your home and were in some sort of trouble. I called Art and told him to be on the lookout for you, and he called me when you walked into the bar. I got there as fast as I could and just slipped past you and onto that stool in time."

"Hmm, so you _are_ a little self-serving and crafty," I said as my smile turned into a smirk. "I'm glad you're not a doormat. I'm also glad you wanted to see me that much." I embarrassed him with all that, so I turned down the heat a bit, asking, "I wonder if the 'others' suspected we'd get this close?"

"I'm sure they didn't link us romantically."

And I was positive they did. I didn't care. _I_ was linking us very romantically-- with dancing little hearts everywhere.

But what was I thinking? What were we getting into here? We were complete opposites, weren't we? Oh, come on! I was outgoing, garrulous, friendly and approachable. Trowa was introverted, taciturn, and locked-away from the world.

Did any of that matter? If we were polar opposites, then we could attract like magnets. I couldn't wait for my north to meet his south.

"Romantic, huh?" I inched closer. "I got another idea for us, Sweetlips."

"Sweetlips? Please, no." He may have said that, but he was laughing about it and rolled into me.

"Yeah, too bad. I've been suffering here for weeks thinking I was sharing a bed with the sexiest straight guy ever, only to discover _now_ that I was duped."

"Oh, God, no." Trowa looked ashen. "I didn't mean to keep you in the dark. I was hiding my excitement." His Adams' apple bobbed. I hadn't intended to make him so nervous. "I could hardly accept the fact that you'd come to this hellhole satellite. I mean, Duo Maxwell was really here in the middle of nowhere and accepting my invitation to stay. I thought I was fantasizing you most of the time. I had no hopes that you'd ever fall for me."

"Of course you did. There's always hope."

"I had no expectations, trust me."

"Trowa," I stopped him with his name. "I fell so hard I got bruises."

He indulged me with a blush and smile, which turned sly when he added, "I didn't see any bruises."

"So, you _were c_hecking me out!" He was so caught!

"Oh," he groaned. When he spoke again, it was in a husky whisper. "You know what you do to me? No, no… You couldn't possibly."

"Sure could, and if you'd given me any hint that you were gay you would have jumpstarted this whole relationship thing." Whatever that was.

"I invited you into my bed. I was certain you'd say no, but when you did? That was amazing."

"For me, too. Damn, you hid your excitement well."

"It wasn't hard with all the meds I was on." He looked at me from under his long bangs. "But it's impossible to hide it now."

I got it! He hadn't been able to get _it_ up before, but he could now. Oh how my thoughts were gravitating from talk to sex! And from the sound of his heavy breathing, I bet it wouldn't take much to get him to pounce.

"So you were hoping to seduce me from the start, but—"

"I didn't say that!"

"Heh, heh…but it's true."

"I never thought I could attract you."

I pitched my voice low and sultry. Now that there was no reason to hold back, I didn't. My guess was that with all that pent up passion, my quiet friend would turn out to be the hottest bed partner ever.

"Well, you have," I said. I moved so close my lips touched his exposed ear. Except for the long bangs, his hair was clipped short, making it all the easier to reach those ear erogenous zones. "So what are you going to do about it, Sweetlips?"

His growl and attack was instantaneous and everything I was begging for. I could bottom. I could top. His choice. Heads, tails—I coiled underneath his truly amazing body and took what he could give like a man. He was kind, demanding, tender, loving. He was deeply appreciative and utterly devoted.

I saw stars and heard crazy circus calliope music. He was an animal in bed. Poor me, heh, heh…

I did the cleanup and tucked us in bed, satiated, happy, intertwined together. But we didn't sleep.

That night we talked and talked. We told each other how beautiful we thought the other one was, how amazing, and how lucky. He didn't believe me, and I said, "I have my work cut out for me," and made love to him again.

We made promises and plans for the future. He used the laptop and cruised our options, now that we had those veteran benefits. Trowa wanted to further his education, while I would be satisfied being a mechanic or therapist maybe. It didn't matter to me. We did agree that we'd return Earthside so I could feel the sun on my face. He didn't want to lose his tan, he joked.

"I'm glad this didn't happen when you and I were fifteen," I concluded.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. You know why?"

"Ah, no, not really," he admitted.

"Because, I like the man you've become more than that strange boy you were back then. I think I've improved, too."

He smiled his shy smile. "I love the man you've become."

That was sweet. I told him I loved him too.

"So, happy Valentine's Day," he said.

"Happy… huh?" Was it that day already? I hadn't connected all the ads with a date, but of course! "Oh, yeah."

"Tomorrow, all those candies and flowers will be half-price and I'll get you something."

"Um, how about we buy each other new underwear? I could use that."

"Too practical. It's supposed to be about romance."

"Okay, then make them red or silk."

"Umm, silk…" he said, turning it into a sexy moan.

And then he made love to me pouring everything into it he could, all his passion and love. Yes, I knew love when I felt it. I'd been waiting for it a long time.

* * *

End. **..:~:.. ~*~..:~:..** Sending you my warmest wishes for a happy Valentine's Day. Thank you for reading.--KS **..:~:.. ~*~..:~:..**


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